The whole force came to a stop. Deerfoot raised himself in his stirrups. “No go ahead now,” he called in a loud voice. “I fear ambush.”
His remarks were greeted with howls of derision. Shouts and jeers were flung at the Pottowattomie, and a few even went so far as to intimate that probably Deerfoot was in league with Black Hawk and was attempting to save his ally from destruction. At any rate, no one paid any attention to his words of warning. Once more the rangers spurred their horses forward.
“Come on, Joe,” called Robert excitedly. “We mustn’t be left out of this.”
“I know, but he’s overcautious sometimes. Even if he is right we can’t stay behind now. Major Stillman himself ordered the advance.”
“No one seems to obey him very often, though,” remarked Joseph grimly. “At least they only do when they feel like it.”
“Of course I am,” retorted Joseph as he urged his horse forward.
Some fifty or more of the rangers had already crossed the creek and the two young brothers were quick to follow. Into the water they plunged and a few moments later were safe on the other side of the stream. Nearly the whole force had now forded Sycamore Creek or were in the act of doing so. As soon as they had emerged from the water they hurried forward on their quest.
Joseph glanced at Deerfoot. The Indian evidently was anxious and fearful of what was in store for them. He clutched his tomahawk firmly in his right hand, while his eyes constantly searched the nearby bushes for possible signs of the enemy.
Nothing had happened so far, however, and Joseph began to think that perhaps his brother had been right when he said that Deerfoot was sometimes overcautious. The pace was swift now and at least two hundred yards had been covered since they had left the creek. The spot seemed ideal for an ambush, but there was no sign of the hostile Sacs as yet. Joseph felt more confident each moment.
His confidence was shortlived, however. Just as the force of rangers came to a particularly dense growth of bushes and timber, a yell rent the air. A blood-curdling, ear-splitting war whoop sounded that from its volume apparently issued from hundreds, perhaps thousands of throats. Everyone of the rangers drew in his horse sharply and glanced about him in astonishment. The yells were continuous and seemed to increase in volume. But where did they come from? Not a sign of the enemy was to be seen.